I Don't Own Emotion
by bohemianbeauty
Summary: RENT: Maureen reflects in a journal type thing about recent happenings. Is probably going to end up being preRENT to postRENT, or to the end of the show at least. Rating went up. Read my profile for more info.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything, all important characters (since I might eventually make up some smaller characters who are relatively unimportant and just plot devices to put the story where I want it) are property of Jonathan Larson, my inspiration.

Please review if you're reading, it means a lot to me to have some comments on how I'm doing. I don't think reviews are so much to ask, and I really do appreciate them.

**June 21st**

I need something to occupy myself right now. I'm sitting here, on the disgustingly shabby old couch in the loft, with Mark asleep next to me, which is weird, since usually I'm the one sleeping and Mark's the one talking about the deeper meaning of life and its events to his camera. But I couldn't work Mark's camera for the life of me, not to mention it's kind of an extension of him, so I'm doing this little journal thingy instead. I don't seem to have a creative outlet, which is pretty upsetting at times. I mean, everyone here kinda has their own way of expressing themselves when they're upset or mad or lonely or need to think, except for me. Collins usually goes and reads, Benny just finds some girl to fuck, Roger gets out the guitar, and Mark has his camera.

And up until yesterday, April was our resident writer. The one who was always seen with one of those black and white covered composition notebooks. Of course, it was never black and white, maybe black and whatever color highlighter April had used to color the white in with, but she never left it white. White was too plain, too boring, too normal, she always told me. And April was certainly far from normal.

I still can't believe that I'm allowing myself to process this so early. She's dead. As horrifying as that is to write, I'm not going to be a Roger Davis about this. I'm not going to sit in fucking denial until it's convenient for me to allow myself to have feelings. Then again, I'm also not going to be completely insensitive to the topic, and though I have a feeling that Roger will at some point sooner or later be accusing me of such behavior, I'm not.

I'm not, I'm not, I'm not, I'm not, I'm NOT.

He's upset because he wasn't here. I know that he is. I haven't seen him since last night; he went to his room right before the paramedics left with her body and hasn't come out yet. I haven't even gone to check on him, because I know he'll just flip out. And I understand that he wants to be left alone. Even Mark, sweet, kind, compassionate, caring Mark, got pushed away last night when he went to make sure Roger was okay. That wasn't so shocking to me, since I watch Roger treat Mark like shit pretty much all the time, but Mark was trying so hard. He always is. I admire him for that…he's a good friend.

I'm wondering if I should go check on Roger; see if he fell asleep, if he's awake, if he needs something to eat, if he did anything stupid to try to be with April. But that's just not me. I don't want to go intrude on whatever Roger's doing to grieve. I'm trying my best to grieve my way here and it's still not enough.

I've been up all night, thinking about it. The paramedics came around nine last night, and Roger got in around nine-thirty. The whole climax of this ordeal was over by ten. Once Roger had decided on how he was going to go about handling this, Mark and I sat down on the couch and cried. We cried and cried and cried and held each other. Eventually, Mark fell asleep with his head in my lap. I don't know how he slept, or how he's even still sleeping. He saw what I saw. And I can't get it out of my mind.

We had just come home from dinner at the Life, just the two of us. It was probably around eight that we came in, Mark had picked me up at a rinky-dink café that I had been practicing my performance pieces in at around six, and we went right to the Life from there. We walked upstairs and everything was fine, normal, the usual…Roger was sitting on the kitchen table (if you could call it a kitchen), lightly playing Musetta's Waltz over and over, and April was sitting in a chair by the table, leaning her head on the table and listening to Roger, eyes closed. Roger put down the guitar and informed us that he was on his way out to get booze and cigarettes. Knowing he could only possibly have enough money for cigarettes, I assumed the booze excuse meant that he was visiting a certain person to get his heroin fix. He might have been able to hide his problematic addiction from Mark, but Mark, despite his incessant camera use, isn't as observant as I am. April knew where he was going, too, and nodded before heading into their bedroom.

I heard the door of the loft shut and Mark went to put some water on for tea. I don't know how he's drinking tea, it's the middle of June and already unseasonably hot, especially for the early evening hours. The humidity is making everything sticky and disgusting and I'm kind of thinking cold shower before April pops her head out of the bedroom.

"Mark? Maureen?" she asked with her head peered around the door, looking into Mark and I in the kitchen.

"What's up, April?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said to me, "I think I'm just gonna go take a cold shower or bath or something. It is so fucking hot."

"Ugh," I replied, "Completely agree."

Mark, standing over the boiling water in a sweater, of all things, said, "It's not that hot, you guys. And if you think this is bad, imagine how we're going to live through the whole summer!"

April and I laughed a bit, but she sounded uneasy. "Anyways, I just wanted to let you guys know. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay, April," I said, kind of weirded out that she said that she'd see us later, I mean, she was only going into the bathroom for a little while. Whatever. I had just brushed it off as nothing and sat down at the table with Mark and his tea. I heard the water in the shower go on and for a minute, I was pretty jealous of her to be getting a cold shower in the heat.

At eight forty-five I was pretty much past jealous and kind of annoyed. I mean, she had probably been in there around forty minutes by now, and it wasn't that hot. _Besides_, I thought to myself, _once Roger gets back she has a night of drugs and sex awaiting her. The least I can get is a shower!_

Not being able to deal with the heat any longer, I pushed Mark off of me, disrupting his mouth's assault on my neck and said, "Sorry honey, but I really need a shower." He looked sad, like a little puppy dog, so I ruffled his hair and kissed his forehead. "Meet me in bed in twenty minutes?" I asked in a coquettish tone. He smiled again. I went into our bedroom, grabbed a towel off of the floor, and knocked on the bathroom door.

"April? Hey babe, you've been in there for a while now, you think I could have a turn?" I said, giggling so she wouldn't think I was angry at her or anything. "I hate to be a pain in the ass, but I am dying out here!"

No answer. Odd, usually she'd at least yell, "Fuck you! I'll get out when I'm ready!" but I didn't even get that. I knocked again.

"Please, April? I'm asking you really nicely…" I trailed off. I was starting to get worried that something had happened. Like maybe she slipped and fell in the bathtub and was unconscious? It wouldn't be the first time…she had done that a few months before but luckily, Roger had realized something was up when she had promised him a mindblowing fuck and then not left the shower. She was fine, a little bump on the head, but she had been out for a good ten minutes when he had found her. Remembering this, I was concerned, and called to Mark from the kitchen to help me.

"Pookie?" I said, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice, "I think April might have slipped again in the shower. Can you help me get the door open?"

"Again? God, April, what a klutz!" Mark said before coming to join me at the bathroom door.

"Don't go in, Mark, once we have the door open, because if she's just kidding, she's gonna be pretty pissed that you came in while she was naked," I reminded him. We slammed ourselves into the door and with the combined weight, it swung open. "Okay, stay out here. I'll call you if I need help waking her up or anything."

I hadn't walked in three steps before I saw something wrong. The shower curtain was pulled back like April was in there, but her right foot was hanging haphazardly out of the side of the tub. I could see murky water in the bathtub and feel it under my feet…something serious must've happened. I didn't even bother looking down at the water, I needed to check on April first. I pulled back the shower curtain back and looked in horror.

I left the bathroom only to grab Mark, who was still standing outside the door, and pull him in to see what I did.

April was lying in the bathtub, filled with murky water, dead. Her right arm was hanging out of the side of the tub and had been hidden by the shower curtain, but without its cover exposed a cut from wrist to elbow. The razorblade on the floor showed us exactly what she had used, it looked like it had fallen out of her hand in death. Looking down at the floor that I had previously ignored, I saw the blood mixing with the water overflowing out of the tub. Her eyes were closed, but purple all around, as though someone had given her two black eyes.

It wasn't until I found a note on the sink, on a page obviously ripped from a composition notebook, written in pink highlighter:

_Roger-_

_We've got AIDS. I love you. I'm so sorry._

_-April_

that I knew how to react.

The paramedics were there within ten minutes of Mark and I coming upon April in the bathtub. We didn't have to talk much, luckily, as the note pretty much explained her motives. We knew that the harder part would come when Roger finally got home.

I heard the door of the loft fly open; I knew Roger was worried because he had seen the ambulance.

He walked in to find Mark and I in the kitchen. I whispered, "I'm sorry," before he ran into the bathroom to find the paramedics zipping April up into a body bag.

It was rare of Roger to be calm during situations like this; however, it was so unreal for him that he seemed to be unfeeling. He calmly questioned the paramedics until they handed over the note.

I saw him leave the bathroom and come into the kitchen, his whole body trembling.

Mark got up from his chair to comfort him, hug him, just do something for him, and Roger turned around, walked into his bedroom, and shut the door. I waited for a sound, but I heard nothing. Not a sob, not a yell, not even a strum on his guitar.

The paramedics left shortly after with her body.

It was the single most harrowing experience of my life.


	2. Chapter 2

**June 24th**

The past four days have been some of the most difficult for all of us in the loft. I wasn't expecting them to be easy, but…I just don't know. I still don't comprehend this. I'd give anything to just get April's answers to all of the questions that have been flying through my head. It's easy enough to make assumptions about some of them, but still. I would've wanted April's answers.

Especially her answer to why she thought there was no way to live anymore. Even with us, her family. Even with Roger, the guy who loved her more than anything.

Both Benny and Collins have been home with us now, we're so lucky for that. Collins was away doing an interview at MIT, where he might get hired to teach…they should be calling him any day now. He got back a little while after my last entry, the day after April's death. Benny got back the day after Collins, he had been away on some important "business trip", which probably translates into vacation at the Playboy mansion, but I was, for once, too upset to debate on where he really was with him. At least they were here now.

I can give April credit for one thing in her death: she reminded us all that we're a family and we need each other. We've all done a lot of sitting around in the living room area of the loft. Just sitting, no speaking. Mark hasn't touched the camera, which is a big deal. Roger's done with the guitar, he's decided. We've done a lot of hugging and holding each other. Physical contact is such a comfort to me.

The wake was yesterday, and the funeral was today. A closed-casket wake…we didn't want to take the chance that anyone would see the massive wounds on her arms. She had no family, besides us, and very few other friends, only two of whom showed up and seemed a little too high to speak to any of us. Real fucking considerate of them, really. Benny was nice enough to foot the bill on everything so that we could all at least take comfort in the fact that she had gone to rest properly.

We all went home after and attempted eating some of the food that Mark's mom had sent up when she heard about the incident. She keeps calling to check on us, which is more of an annoyance than anything, because none of us want to talk to her, let alone talk about what we have to go through here. About an hour ago, when she had tried calling for the sixtieth time in the past four days, Roger walked over to the phone while the answering machine was running, blaring, "Kids? Are you alright? You haven't been returning my calls, Mark, I'm getting worried…" and ripped it clean off of the wall.

Needless to say, our chances of having the money to fix that phone soon are pretty much dead, with Benny away again. And for God knows how long, too. He's been dating this woman, Allison, who lives in Westport, and he's obviously looking to make a marriage. She comes from a very rich family, and Benny's always had an eye for cash.

Collins got a message today though; before Roger attacked the phone…he was accepted to teach Computer Age Philosophy at MIT. I'm really proud of him, he worked hard for it. However, he's leaving for Boston on Saturday and today's Thursday, and I'm not sure Mark, Roger, and I can stand to lose him yet. Looks like we don't have much of a choice.

God, I miss April so much.

**Later…**

Roger is screaming right now, Mark and Collins are taking care of him. Roger hasn't had smack in about a week, since Mark found the heroin he had brought home the night April died and thrown it out the window of the loft. He's going through a withdrawal and he's so desperate, but he's too angsty and despairing to leave the house, even for drugs. Not to mention that with Benny gone, what little money he has isn't going to buy him much of anything. And what little money we all have is pretty much going towards taking care of Roger and the death sentence April left behind for him.

I'm scared. Mark says he'll behave completely irrationally until he can recover from his addiction, which could take a really long time. Mark, the ever-patient best friend, is willing to wait it out. I'm however, not. I'm fed up that his drug addiction is taking higher precedence over his grieving for his girlfriend.

I'm also fed up of hearing Roger hurl invectives at Mark and Collins, saying that there's "absolutely no fucking way in all of fucking hell" that he'll go to the doctor's appointment we made for him tomorrow. He will go, and I know Mark and Collins are both in there, trying to be nice and reason with him, but I don't really understand why. Why are they being nice to him? He needs to see a fucking doctor and get medicine. ROGER HAS AIDS, AND HE NEEDS TO START TAKING CARE OF HIMSELF IF HE INTENDS ON LIVING THROUGH THE REST OF THIS YEAR, LET ALONE THE REST OF HIS LIFE.

I can't stand how selfish he's being, and what's more, I can't stand that Mark especially is putting up with all of the shit that Roger's giving him.

I don't know how we're expected to get by, just the three of us, for God knows how long. I can't even handle it now.


	3. Chapter 3

**June 26th**

Collins left this morning.

Mark and I took the subway with him to Penn Station so that we could see him on to the train. I didn't really want to go, I haven't been sleeping much since the day I found April and I was exhausted, but I ended up feeling like I needed to be a good person and going anyways. Especially since Roger refuses to leave the loft. And, playing the role of Mark's devoted girlfriend, I definitely had to be there. So I went and we said goodbye. Collins is living with his cousin, who lives just outside of Boston and is asking for no money for the rent ("Lucky he's not a Benny," I reminded him), so Collins plans to stay down there over Thanksgiving break and spend Thanksgiving with his family, but he hopes to come and stay with us during their winter holiday.

That is, if Benny hasn't evicted us yet.

Benny is really quite a piece of work now, coming home after spending only three days with Allison in Connecticut, to announce that they were engaged. Well, how fucking lovely for him, and how miserable for her. But anyways, he also decided that we needed to start paying rent on the loft, since he and Allison's dad (a.k.a. the REAL reason Benny's getting hitched) have big plans on making our building into an office or studio or something stupid like that. So you think he wouldn't want us to pay rent on it, so that he can just evict us and get us out, but instead he lets us know that his plan isn't going into action for a while, so we need to start paying rent if we don't want to be evicted. Like that's happening…he knows we can't fucking afford to pay rent. We have Saltines and a half eaten box of Captain Crunch in the cabinets, and that's our food supply, and we're supposed to pay rent! Asshole. I never liked him, anyways.

God, I'm surrounded by assholes nowadays, save for Mark, and what's worse than being an asshole is a doormat, like Mark. Roger's just a fucking idiot who I'm already tired of putting up with, I'm tired of listening to him complain about having to take AZT, the one thing that will keep him alive, and I'm tired of Mark leaving the bed in the middle of the night to go pat Roger on the back while he throws up because he's going through such bad withdrawals. I mean, whose fault is that? Certainly not mine or Mark's, so why is it taking such a toll on our lives? I know why. It's because Mark is a doormat. He's been letting Roger walk all over him since before I even knew them and it's obviously a habit Mark doesn't feel like breaking. His life has revolved around Roger even before, but now it's just more obvious, since I'm taking a back seat to being with my boyfriend so he can be with another man who isn't even treating him well.

Well Mark, honey, two can play at that game.

All of our roommates know that I'm bisexual, except for Mark. I've never actually said to anyone, "Yes, I'm bisexual," but they've all pretty much assumed it and I don't deny it, so I'm pretty sure they all have a good idea of who I really am. It's always Mark, the one with the camera who wants to observe so much deeper than everyone else, that misses the obvious things. And I mean, why shouldn't I be bisexual? I'm fabulous looking and I can get whoever I want. I've had flings with girls in the past, but no more than I've had with men. I've never really had a serious relationship with a woman, but then again, Mark is the only person I've ever had a real "serious relationship" with. We've been dating for about four months (he asked me to be his girlfriend on Valentine's Day, and it was so charmingly cliché that I couldn't refuse), and I'm already starting to get bored. And it's not that Mark is boring (well, he's not boring all the time), it's me. It's not him, it's me.

Actually, it's not really either of us. It's Roger, who is somehow making this relationship between three people instead of the two who are supposed to be involved.

When I met Mark, I liked him immediately. And how couldn't I? He was so adorable, like a puppy that you see in the pet store window and you have to get it, because it's just so fucking cute. And, like the cute puppy, Mark worshipped me. Believe me, having a guy with a camera feel the need to use all of his film on you sipping a drink at a bar does wonders for your self-esteem. Having Mark around was great, because he was just so devoted. And only to me, too, which was shocking…most of the other guys I've dated were all about the fact that there were other women. I could accept that. But Mark never made me. It was nice.

Not to mention, Mark spoiled me. He treated me like the princess that I am. I've been called high-maintenance by other people, but Mark's never said a thing like that to me. It's rare that I can find someone who can put up with me like Mark can, and I guess that's a lot of the reason why I stuck around. Besides, when I moved in with him, I got really attached to the people I was living with. Leaving Mark most likely means leaving here, and right now, while dealing with all this, I'm not ready to leave. Not yet.

But that doesn't mean I'm not ready to look for a new place to go when I am ready.

* * *

I don't usually like to do author's notes (I hate them and that's also why I only put the disclaimer in the first chapter, I feel like notes and disclaimers take you away from the story, but I couldn't resist on this chapter), but I feel theneed to say sorry for the short chapter and the really mean Maureen. I just figured I'd give you all a little insight into the Mark/Maureen pairing before I can start having Maureen find new people (coughJOANNEcough). And I'm going to see my Maureen, Idina Menzel (fangirls and dies on the floor) tonight, so hopefully I will be very inspired to write some more interesting happenings on this story. So until then, review! Thanks for reading! 


	4. Chapter 4

**July 1st**

See the date?

It's the first of the month.

And we have no money, which means we are incapable of paying the electricity bill, the water bill, or the rent.

Benny, being the eternally sweet and compromising asshole that he is, decided that instead of evicting us this month, he would just shut off the electricity and hot water until we had enough money to pay the bills to keep them on. And then we could worry about the rent, he said. Said he was feeling "charitable".

Fucking prick.

So we've pretty much been living off of candles, and the occasional flashlight, but we can't afford batteries either so it's easier for us if we can just use candles and lighters…Roger has a million half-used lighters lying around the house, which makes having no electricity the slightest bit easier. That and the fact that Mark refuses to let Roger have the candles and lighters for fear he'll try to burn himself. Mark's being stupid. Everyone knows Roger is too vain to mar his perfect skin.

I figured that living without electricity for a while could be okay until I got out of the shower. My cold shower (I'm thanking God it's July and not December). I went to go blow dry my hair and tried to turn the blow dryer on and it didn't work. That's when it hit me. I am going to have huge, constantly wavy hair until the electricity comes on. And that isn't even the worst part. The worst part is that it's fucking JULY in the middle of fucking New York City and we live in a fucking loft on the top floor of an old building and heat rises and we have no electricity to make our fans work. We have a few of those fans that you can plug in and they blow a cool breeze around, but they don't work because they run on electricity. And that's a bitch because now the only thing we have to keep us cool is a shower, a place I've hated to be spending time recently. What I really want to do is to soak in a cold bath all day, but sitting down in the bathtub reminds me of April. I can't even be in the bathroom for too long yet because it's a constant reminder of what happened. And to add to that, the edge of the bathtub and on to the floor next to where her arm hung out there is a stain of crimson. Mark's tried everything he could to get it out and to no avail.

I'm starting to feel like I want to move, as much as I love this place. But with no electricity, a boyfriend who doesn't pay enough attention to me, and a bathroom in which one of my best friends ended her own life, I want desperately to just get out. But I can't. I have nowhere to go.

And I don't even know how long we're going to have to live like this. Mark doesn't seem to care, and Roger is completely unfazed. The loft could be collapsing in over his head and he'd still have the same look on his face. But I can't do it for much longer. I've considered my options. I could sleep with Benny, and maybe then he'd turn the electricity back on. The hot water isn't as much of a problem now as it could be in later months, so I'm more focused on this electricity issue. But Benny's engaged now and is in no position to sleep with me until his marriage is a little more secure. I could sleep with Mark and convince him to get a job so that we could pay the bills and Benny would turn the electricity back on, but that probably wouldn't work because Mark sleeps on a folding chair in Roger's room every night now, and would refuse to leave Roger by himself, even though I'd be here. So that kills two ideas.

I'd love to do some performing for cash but the place that I've been rehearsing my pieces at are letting me do everything free as long as they can have the money for admission, so that wouldn't work. And I could go and try to land a commercial or a record deal or a movie or something, but that could take a long time and we don't have a long time to wait here.

I considered writing to Collins and asking for money, but he'll just tell us to get jobs like we did. He wants us to learn how to live by ourselves. We can't depend on him financially anymore. It wasn't fair that we kinda did in the first place, but what else were we supposed to do? Starve?

Or we could sell all of the shit furniture in this place and see how much we make.

Ooh! Even better! We could sell Roger's guitar! He said he's never gonna play it again, so we might as well sell it…if it's not enough money for the electricity bill, we could at least get some groceries with it.

I'm gonna go ask Mark if we can do it. I'll even be the one to go sell it. I'm just so nice.

* * *

**Later…**

The guitar selling plan didn't go over too well. I asked Mark in front of Roger and shockingly, I saw Roger show some sort of emotion.

"You fucking bitch! Are you out of your fucking mind! I'm not fucking selling my guitar to get fucking electricity back for you just because you think you're the goddamn queen of everything!" he yelled at me.

"You don't have to be so melodramatic," I said before I left the room.

What makes me the angriest is that Roger didn't apologize, and Mark didn't apologize for Roger. At least that would've been something, but Mark just sat there and let Roger scream at me. I don't know what's happening to him, but I'm really fed up with Roger and the way he's been acting like a pity whore and monopolizing all of Mark's attention.

And it's fucking hot and Mark and I have to suffer, even if Roger doesn't care. And I can't do this anymore. This calls for something drastic, something I'm not completely willing to do, but, for my electricity back, I'm going to do it.

All I can say now is those boys better be pretty damn grateful when we don't have to light candles to see things anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

**July 4th**

Woohoo, happy fucking fourth of July. It figures that there's some sort of reason to get out of the house today and Mark and Roger refuse to leave. In the town I grew up in on Long Island, they do a really fantastic fireworks display tonight. My parents told us to come and spend the day. It'd be a free meal for us, but Mark and Roger don't want to go. Of course. Roger still hasn't left the loft yet and Mark still hasn't stopped babying him. The interactions between the two of them are ridiculous and I am really getting fed up.

I even resorted to seducing Mark the other night. I put on a lacy silk black nightgown that exposes way too much thigh to be considered decent, and wore my hair down and wavy, the way Mark likes it. Why he likes my hair the way it looks when I get out of the shower, I'll never understand. I heard the door of Roger's room open and shut gently and knew he was on his way into our room. I posed suggestively on the bed and he opened the door, looked at me, said, "Not right now, Maureen. I just got Roger to sleep and I don't want to wake him."

Since when was Mark in a place where he could turn down sex? "Don't worry Pookie, we'll be quiet." I pouted and looked him in the eye. "I miss you." Lie. If I had said, "I miss the attention that you used to give me but have been lately siphoning over to Roger," that would have been a little more accurate, but whatever.

"Maureen, please. I said not now. Maybe tomorrow or something."

TOMORROW? I actually had to SEDUCE you and you have the audacity to say TOMORROW? That was it. I lost it. I completely lost it on him and I don't feel a bit guilty about it.

"Mark, what the hell is your problem? We haven't had sex in almost a month. A MONTH! Most girls in their right mind would've left you already, but I'm letting it slide because I love you." Another lie. Not about the no sex for almost a month, that is, sadly, true. But the "I love you" part is a stretch. "And not only that," I continued, "But in that almost month, you haven't even spent a full night in the same bed with me. And do you know why that is? Because you've been spending the night with your best friend. God Mark, it's almost like you're cheating on me! But with a guy who lives in the same house as us and is straight!" He said nothing. "I can't do this anymore, Mark. I can't stand to be in the same house with you if you're going to treat me like I'm invisible."

He turned to leave the room. "By the way, Mark," I said, voice saturated in disdain, "I went out and got a fucking job. I'm a waitress at the Life Café. I start work tomorrow."

And might I say, I'm a great actress. I practice my lines, those important one-liners that are made to just tug at everyone's heartstrings and really cut you to the core, and that's what my last line to Mark was. He looked back at me and our eyes met, but I quickly averted my gaze and turned over in the bed, my back to him. The door shut as he left and I knew I had won something here. I'm not sure exactly what I was trying to win, though. A reminder to Mark that he needs to pay attention to me if he wants me to stick around? A sort of self-assertion that I have enough self-respect to ask for a little attention from a guy who supposedly loves me? Or is it possibly a victory over Roger, of whom I grow increasingly more jealous as each day passes?

I don't even know anymore. I'm so confused with what I want. But I do know this: I want to be loved, appreciated, and not shafted under any circumstances, and I don't feel that I am getting any of that here anymore. So although I intend to keep living in the loft for a while, I do not intend to remain tied down to someone who seems to be more attached to his best friend than me. I've got a job now! I'm going to be out all day, working, making friends with the people I work with, and, as an added bonus, meeting all sorts of different customers every day. There's no way I won't find at least one decent person to flirt with every day.

**

* * *

**

**Later…**

Mark came back in a few hours ago to apologize for the fact that he's been ignoring me. He said he recognized what he was doing, but he didn't know what to do about it, and since I wasn't complaining he was going to let things continue the way they were going. It's a good thing I'm outspoken and opinionated or he would've lost me for sure! He was very sweet about it, and whenever he looks at me when he's apologizing, those baby blue eyes become the sweetest thing on the planet. He's adorable.

So, naturally, we had fantastic apology sex. One of my favorite kinds of sex, actually, because it's so much more than sex. It's sweet and slow and gentle and it makes me really feel like Mark cares about me. Which is a great feeling. Lately I've been feeling like he'd rather have sex with Roger than me. And I know Mark loves me and I know he doesn't mean to make me feel unwanted, but it's just been happening. He loves me. I know.

But what I don't know is if I love him back. Well, no. I can't say that. I love Mark. I love the attention he gives me. I love how he listens to me complain and bitch and moan and acts like there is nothing else in the world he'd rather do than listen to me and try to make me happy. I love the sex. I love the romantic things that he does. And I love his personality. He's a great person, so much more of a person than I'll ever be. I'll never be as good of a person as Mark.

And maybe that's why I seem to be accepting the fact that I don't feel the need to be in love with him even though we're dating and having sex and he says he's in love with me.

If I were as good of a person as Mark is, I'd feel guilty for what I'm doing to him.

If I were anyone besides myself, I'd probably feel guilty for what I'm doing to him.

But facts are facts: I'm not and I don't. And as great of an actress as I am, I can't pretend this time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note** (which you all know I HATE): For author's notes now, read my profile...it'll have what I want to say about this story, apologies for chapters being short or late or stuff like that. Just a warning. You may now continue with this (obnoxiously short) chapter.

* * *

**July 8th**

Work at the Life has been…interesting, to say the least. I've started out working these insane hours, so sometimes I'll work at the asscrack of dawn and come home at three in the afternoon and sleep, or I'll work from like, eight at night until closing, which is sometimes around two, if there are still customers. My sleeping schedule is therefore completely fucked and I'm eating a whole lot less.

And shockingly, Mark hasn't said a word about it. I thought after what happened on Independence Day that maybe he'd start paying a little more attention to me, but I guess I was wrong.

It kind of drives me crazy that Mark hasn't noticed, either. Because it's one of those things that Mark would notice. That I was losing a lot of weight, that I looked tired and sick all the time, he'd say something and do everything in his power to fix it. But not anymore. Not since Mark decided that he was going to devote his life to making his completely unresponsive roommate happy again, which I doubt will happen anytime soon. Roger's fits from withdrawal are becoming more frequent and we don't have the money to put him in rehab, nor will Roger or Mark hear anything about having Roger put in rehab. Luckily, Roger is constantly in too much pain to leave the house, so he's physically incapable of getting his hands on any more drugs. Mark's dumped everything he's found in Roger's room into the toilet and got rid of it.

I know I sound like a cold, heartless bitch, to be like, begging for attention while someone else is going through more problems than I am, but the truth is I just don't understand how Roger and Mark are even friends. Roger just treats everyone like shit all the time, and Mark is a perfect target and he gets hit every time Roger's angry or frustrated or pretty much feeling any sort of negative emotion, which is ninety-nine percent of the time. I've tried time and time again to make some sort of connection with Roger, to let him know that I care about him and want to help him and make him happy, and every single time he's pushed me away. Which is absolutely fine. But I can't be expected to keep putting in such an effort after I've done so much already and had him blow me off completely.

Mark always asks me why we "can't just be nice people to each other". Well, that's why. Because every time I try to be nice to Roger, he accuses me of putting on an act. And he's right. But that's because it is impossible for me to be genuinely nice to someone who has been such an asshole to not only me, but all of the people that I truly care about.

Needless to say, all the time I've been spending at work has been time that I'm not around Mark and Roger, so it's been nice. I work with nice people and already have regular customers. And I just finished my third day of work at three this afternoon and I have already received four phone numbers! No one too attractive, though, and no women yet either. Which is kind of surprising, since Roger once told me when he was drunk that I give off a "lesbian vibe" in public. That was probably the nicest thing he's ever said to me, too.

I'm bored now and kinda tired from work, so I think I'm gonna go see if I can get Mark out of Roger's room for sex or something. I guess I'm in that kind of mood.


	7. Chapter 7

**July 20th**

It's been really weird, not writing for a while, but I've been really busy lately and it's been difficult to find time to do much of anything. Today is my first day off from work in God knows how long, Mark's out supporting a company that is soon to monopolize the universe, but hey, we need lunch and McDonald's is cheap, so I had to kind of cut the whole rant about it and just deal with what I could get. It's rare that we have enough money to have actual hot, somewhat real food, since working in a New York City restaurant, I don't take home much for free, and we usually don't have a lot of money for food unless it's cereal. I thought me working as often as I am would've solved some of these problems, but for some reason, it doesn't seem to be.

Mark thinks that I don't know that a lot of my money is going towards paying for doctors and medicine for Roger. Since Roger won't leave the house, I know that Mark's had a few doctors make very special house calls, since Roger is in such a poor condition. Collins, who writes us constantly and sends us letters about how amazing it is to teach summer classes at MIT and how he can't wait for the fall, has also been sending money for Roger and for us. When I intercept the mail first, I try to send Collins a note that we don't need it and return the money, but he just sends it back with a little more and tells me that just because I want to be independent doesn't mean I have to go hungry. I miss him a lot on days like this, when I'm around the house. At work, I really don't have much time to think about anything going on but work. Work and how Mark is at home, taking care of Roger, and attempting to lie to me about it.

All I really know, since Mark won't say anything and I have to snoop around to get what little information I have, is that Roger's on AZT for his HIV, some sort of anti-depressant so that Mark can leave Roger's room and Roger won't slit his wrists the second Mark leaves, and these special vitamins that Roger only has to take once a week to keep healthy, since he's still not eating as much as he used to and food in the loft is always scarce or probably not the best thing for someone as sick as he is to be eating.

The funny thing is, as much as I hate Roger for how he's acting and what he's doing to mine and Mark's relationship and in general what an asshole he's been to me while we've known each other, I honestly wouldn't care that most of my hard-earned money was going towards keeping him alive if Mark had just came to me and talked about it. As much as I think Roger's a selfish bastard, he's Mark's selfish bastard, and I can't be selfish enough to think that Mark just needs me to survive. Mark needs Roger, and I want Mark to need me because he needs me to keep Roger healthy. And of all people, I find it so difficult to understand that Mark didn't come to me in the first place. Does he think I would've denied him? At this point, I wouldn't deny him anything. I'm getting so desperate to have a relationship with someone who cares about me again. I'm even blowing off all of the people, both men and women, who have been hitting on me at the Life. For him. But I miss him and I need someone, and I don't know how much longer I can do this. Usually I would've already cheated on him several times now, most likely with different people, and for some reason, as much as I want to be vindictive and hurt him like I'm getting hurt, I can't. And that scares me. I've never cared about someone that much. I didn't really want to start now, either.

I'm trying as best as I can to detach myself from him and not think about how much I miss him, which is partially why I work so much. It's not working as well as I planned.

We had sex a few weeks ago, I think it was actually after my last entry. I was a totally different person…because I was getting what I wanted finally; I just let Mark do whatever he wanted to me. I let him take control and I was a little more submissive, something that's difficult for me, but he likes. We just kissed and ran our hands down each other's bodies for a long time, like he likes. This time, I actually really wanted that. I wanted it to last, I wanted to feel like Mark was there and cared about me and it was real. I let him give me a hickey, something I usually do to him. I was at times tender, and then a little more passionate. I never got over the top because I wanted him to be happy. I wanted him to stay.

I got on my knees for the first time and took him into my mouth. Not the best experience of my life, but it kept Mark around for a while. We stayed locked in our room that whole night. And I was okay with doing all of these things because I needed someone and I needed Mark. I don't like needing someone. But still, sex and sexual things like that, and doing them for someone so that I can have a good time and not feel so alone, whatever. I'll do it, I really don't care. Where I really shocked myself was when he entered me and I started crying.

I would never, ever say that out loud. I cried during sex. I should be shot. I mean, the last time I cried was my first time when I was seventeen, and that's because it hurt like a bitch. But after having sex a lot since then, and never crying since then, I hated myself. I hated knowing that I cared so much about having Mark with me. I hated that I had done all of those things to make him happy. I hated that I was vulnerable because I wanted more out of a relationship. I hated that I had real feelings for Mark.

It's been about two weeks still then and I can't bring myself to really want sex now, because I'm afraid of what I'll do. As much as I've been getting a tiny bit more attention from Mark (which may be attributed to me not being home as often or to the great sex, maybe both), and he's made it clear that another experience like that would be welcome anytime, I don't think I'm ready for that yet.

I'm just still trying to fathom how the hell I became so attached. I'm not that kind of person.

…Gotta go. I just heard Roger's bedroom door open, and I need to go watch him and make sure he doesn't try to throw himself out of the window of the loft or anything.

* * *

**Later…**

Fuck.

Today has really sucked. And it sucked this morning, when I had to think about my life and was missing Mark and being all not myself, but naturally, it had to get worse. It had to.

First, I left mine and Mark's bedroom (which Mark hasn't slept in since the last time we had sex, I'll have you know) to go see why the hell Roger could possibly be leaving his bedroom, besides to go to the bathroom. I come out of our room just in time to see him halfway shut the bathroom door behind him, so I figure that he's just using the bathroom and I should leave him alone. But there was something in me, telling me to stay for a minute and just check on him, which is weird, since I don't usually like checking on Roger, but I wanted to.

Good thing I did, since he was fucking attempting to shoot up in the bathroom. After all that Mark and I have fucking done for him, what does he do? Tries to fuck us over. And comes very close to succeeding.

I was standing outside of the bathroom door when I heard the water start running, and I wanted to pull a Mark and you know, make sure he wasn't trying to drown himself in the sink or anything, so I look in through the half open door and what do I see, but Roger holding a syringe to a large vein in his left arm.

My natural first reaction was to scream bloody fucking murder, which caused Roger to drop the syringe on the floor. I went flying through the open door, screaming at him. "ROGER FUCKING DAVIS! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU IF THE HEROIN DOESN'T DO IT FIRST, BECAUSE YOU ARE A FUCKING INCONSIDERATE FUCKING SELFISH FUCKING ASSHOLE WHO DOESN'T EVEN DESERVE TO BE FUCKING ALIVE WITH PEOPLE LIKE FUCKING MARK AND ME TAKING CARE OF YOU! FUCK YOU!" I completely lost it. Tears were streaming down my face and I had succeeded in kicking the syringe behind me out of the bathroom door and into the hallway, and I had successfully pushed Roger up against the wall and was beating my fists on his chest. I just couldn't believe that he was really doing that to us. After everything, that Roger was still going to try to fuck us over. It just made me so angry and upset and disappointed and worried and so many different things and I was reacting in ways that showed every painful emotion I was feeling.

Roger grabbed my wrists to keep me from punching him and looked me in the eye. "What the fuck are you gonna do, Rog? Are you gonna fucking hit me? Why don't you fucking kill me so you can get your fucking hit! DO IT!" I screamed in his face, tears still flowing freely and my body shuddering from sobs and the thought that Roger might really hurt me.

He dropped my wrists and my arms fell to my sides, and he pulled me into a fierce hug and started crying. We sank down to the floor, me resting in Roger's arms, and just sobbed on each other. Roger's vulnerability was overwhelming me and I just couldn't take anything anymore. We stayed like that for a long time, until I pulled away and helped Roger up.

"Mark will be home soon," I observed. "I'm not going to say anything about this unless it happens again. This better be the last of the smack you even have in this house. Is that clear?" I asked Roger as I walked to get the syringe from the hallway and empty its contents into the toilet.

"Yeah. That's the last of it." Roger said, splashing some cold water on his face before leaving the bathroom and returning to his room.

"Maureen?" he said, before shutting the door behind him.

"Yeah?" I asked, drying my face with a towel so Mark wouldn't suspect that I had been crying.

"Thanks…for everything."

I'm angry at Roger for what he did. But not as angry as I am when he's vulnerable, because then I pity him and show emotions and fall for it. Like I did today. I know I should tell Mark about what happened, but I won't.

And the awkwardness in this apartment is getting worse and worse, in this sordid complication of relationships I have with my recovering junkie roommate and boyfriend who loves him more than he loves me.

I need to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**July 22nd**

Central Park can be really beautiful on a hot summer day like today.

Especially when you spent part of it with a pretty girl who hit on you.

Yes. I was just sitting here, innocently, trying to get some sort of a tan and working on writing a new performance piece, and this beautiful black woman, probably two or three inches shorter than me (not counting the heels she had on), stopped and asked if I had the time. Now I normally wouldn't have thought anything of this if she hadn't been wearing a beautiful knee-length black skirt and white blouse, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, exposing a beautiful watch with what may very well have been diamonds encrusted into the silver plating.

I had a feeling, looking at her attire, that she wanted a little more than the time. And by all means, she was attractive enough, not to mention well dressed enough, that I was willing to give her a little more than what she wanted.

I looked down at my watch, which is really Mark's watch, and it said 4:03. I quickly did the math on the paper in my notebook and looked up at her. "It's 2:51." I said to her, flashing one of my famous "Yeah, I know you think I'm hot shit" smiles. Mark's watch happens to be an hour and fifty two minutes fast, a problem that no one in the loft, not even Collins, could seem to correct.

"Thanks a lot," she replied, flashing me a "Are you a lesbian or not?" smile back. I shut my notebook and shifted over a little on my blanket, the Internationally Recognized Sign for, "I'm bisexual and you're hot, so sit down, you fool." However bad Mark is at Internationally Recognized Signs as decided by me, this girl wasn't, and she tapped her finger against her cheek before asking, "Can I sit here for a minute? I've just walked about thirty blocks and my feet are killing me!"

"You are more than welcome to sit down," I said, shifting over a little more. I grabbed my water bottle. "Want some?"

"Thanks," she said, looking genuinely appreciative that she could get off her feet and just have a little water. I don't blame her. I hadn't really realized exactly how hot it was until I looked at her in her black skirt. Black on a summer day is such a bitch.

"I'm Maureen, by the way," I said, forgetting that we hadn't actually known each other forever, like I felt. I smiled again, this time less of the "I know I'm hot shit" smile and more like a "God I haven't been around anyone with estrogen outside of work in an obscene amount of time" smile.

"Joanne Jefferson," she said, extending her hand to me. We shook formally, which was weird, not only because she was in decent working attire and I was in denim shorts that looked like they were painted on to my ass (and that's actually all they covered, too, since I made them out of an old pair of jeans) and a tight white tank top that exposed my thisclosetoasixpack abs, but also because we were flirting and shaking hands. Like…I wanted to hug her instead of shake her head, but then she definitely would've left, she looked like the kind of woman who wasn't gonna take shit from any weirdos in Central Park.

"It's so nice to meet you, Joanne," I said genuinely. And I was being genuine. I mean, as many numbers as I get at work, from men and women, I haven't really run into anyone who I was this physically attracted to from the get-go, and I think that's what I need to even begin to have something with anyone. Not to mention that I hadn't been with a woman in forever, let alone one as beautiful as Joanne. However, I'm never one to chase, I just get chased, so I didn't want to do any more to make myself look overeager.

"So where are you off to?" I asked Joanne as she rifled through her black leather bag.

"Oh," she muffled with her head practically inside the bag, "I'm just on my way back to work from a meeting with a client I had uptown," she told me. "I'm a lawyer, mostly civil cases, and I should be heading back to the firm but I don't particularly love taking the subway and all of the New York transit is especially touristy this time of the year, so I figured I'd walk back from my lunch meeting." She threw a pen over her shoulder and continued. "However, I've only been here about a year and I guess I didn't keep in mind exactly how far Times Square is from my firm up on 86th street."

I may not have been the best math student in school, but I was smart enough to know that 86th street to Times Square is forty four blocks. And I thought it was a long walk to walk six blocks to the NYU subway stop, get on there, get off at 57th street and somehow manage to make my way to 72nd street, where my favorite spot in Central Park, right near the Imagine mosaic, is. I calculated. I walked a total of twenty one blocks to get here, and I probably would've walked less had I wanted to stay out for a shorter period of time. But I don't have to work until later tonight and didn't feel like spending the day in the house with the withdrawal king and the director tooling around with his camera, so I figured I'd hang out around the city for a couple hours. Being outside the Village was nice, too. I've lived there since I was eighteen, when I started school at NYU for drama. I didn't end up graduating because I didn't have the money to finish there and my parents weren't too keen on me becoming a performer, so I've been wasting my life in the Village ever since.

But I digress.

So I laughed at Joanne's bad planning, once I did the math and looked at the three inch heel on her shoes. She finally seemed to find what she was looking for inside the bag, which was her business card. "Ah!" she said, more to herself than me, "I knew I had one of these in here."

"Wow," I said, and adding in a little sarcasm, "You must be a pretty big deal or a pretty big heartbreaker to carry cards around with your number on them."

She laughed. She seemed kind of nervous and I didn't really know why. "Where do you live, if I may inquire into that?" she asked me. "You laughed at my long walk, so now maybe I'll laugh at the fact that you walked out of your apartment and crossed the street to get here," she said, gesturing to the apartment building on the other side of the street, which had apartments that I couldn't afford if I had eighty roommates.

"Well, believe it or not," I said, "it's a big deal that I'm here."

"And why is that?" she asked.

I explained to her that I live in the Village with my two crazy roommates, one who happened to be my boyfriend and the other one was just the recovering heroin addict who had AIDS and was my boyfriend's best friend and that the Imagine mosaic is my favorite spot. The Village was enough of an explanation for her, though. "Please tell me you didn't walk," she said, looking at me seriously, "Wait. You definitely did not walk. If you had walked you would not have laughed so much at how far I'd come."

I agreed with her and explained that I probably walked about half as far as she did, and to boot, I wore flip flops, so I was much more comfortable. "Maybe I should've taken the subway…" she sighed, looking down at her feet.

"No!" I said. "Then we never would have run into each other."

She smiled. She had a nice smile. "Well, I should probably get going," she said to me, with another glance at her death shoes. "Um…if you don't mind me asking…and I hope you don't think I'm a total creep or anything for this, but…" she trailed off.

I knew what was coming. And damn, did it feel good.

"I know you said you had a boyfriend and everything, but do you think I could have your number?" She quickly added, "I totally understand if you say no because I can see that you're straight but I really enjoyed your company and…"

"Of course," I said, taking the pen and business card and scribbling the number to the loft down on the back. "And I'm bisexual, don't think that you have defective Gaydar or anything," I told her, hoping she wouldn't be offended by my use of "gay slang".

Joanne looked relieved as she took the number from me, threw it and the pen back into her bag, and stood up, smoothing out her skirt. "It was very nice meeting you," she said, looking like she meant it. "I hope to see you again soon."

"Nice meeting you too, Joanne," I said, folding up my blanket. She bent down to help me and our hands grazed each other. I felt an electricity that I hadn't felt in a while. "And I hope that we see each other _very _soon."

I couldn't help myself. I'm usually one to be chased but when you meet someone who is that…good, you just can't give that up.

And I was still getting chased, too. I hadn't exactly asked for her number. It was all in her hands now. Let the pieces fall where they may.

And let's just hope I'm home when they fall. If Mark or Roger hear her call they will be really suspicious, and I'm not willing to give this one up yet. I liked her too much.


	9. Chapter 9

**August 1st**

The electricity and hot water got turned back on today. I saved up whatever money I could that wasn't going towards food or Roger's medicine and wrote Benny a letter, explaining the situation and hoping that this money could turn the electricity and hot water back on until September, and then I'd send more cash. It was a really heartwarming letter; I spent a few good afternoons at Central Park working on it, since I've been working a lot of late nights recently, so I'm happy he ended up listening to me.

Those days at Central Park were also good excuses to go looking for Joanne, but I haven't seen her and she still hasn't called. Or at least I haven't been home if she has. The day I met her, I stopped on my way home to see if someone could come repair our telephone which darling Roger ripped off of the wall last month. We haven't thought to have it fixed because we've been communicating with Collins through letters, not communicating with Benny, save for the letter I just wrote, and on those rare occasions where I call my parents I've been going to a pay phone, which is a great excuse to not talk to them for very long. But a repairman came and fixed the phone and also gave us a great deal on a cordless phone (see what a little flirting can do? He installed an extra phone jack in the wall for me!), which I've installed in mine and Mark's room. We still have the old wall phone in the kitchen but now we have an extra phone, which is nice.

Not like it really matters, though. We screen our calls. Once we had the phone working again, it rang and I ran and grabbed it, hoping it was Joanne. It was Mrs. Cohen, wondering why Mark hadn't been returning her calls and why her calls wouldn't even connect to the answering machine and how lucky we were that she didn't call the police or anything to make sure we were still alive. Needless to say, I reminded myself after that call that I need to screen, too.

Earlier this morning, Roger had another fit from his withdrawals. Mark and I were just saying a few days ago how much better he's getting, but this morning he really freaked us out. I honestly thought that he was having a seizure. He was writhing around in his bed, making strangled noises from the back of his throat and pulling at his arms where all of his track marks are. It was really scary, and Mark and I really weren't sure what to do. We had no way of transporting him to the emergency room and I came pretty close to calling 911, but Roger ended up calming down after about fifteen minutes. He got really sick after, though, and he's spent the majority of the day in the bathroom, throwing up. As much as I hate to see Mark lavish attention on anyone but me, it's kind of cute the way he rubs Roger's back and sits with him in the bathroom while he's vomiting up blood because he doesn't eat anything. I even was in a good enough mood to tell Mark that I'd go get us all something decent to eat, but Roger told me not to go because he wouldn't eat it anyways. I worry about him, despite everything. I would never wish death on another person, even if they were as much of an asshole to me as Roger.

Collins also called a little while ago, since I called him and left him a message a few days ago that the phone was fixed. We mostly communicate through letters because he sends cash, and you can't do that through the phone. He says he might try to get back up here for Thanksgiving break, which would be amazing. I miss him more and more, as Roger gets sicker and Mark leaves me more. I feel so lonely all the time now.

Work has been fine, the only real problem I've been having is that I've been working so many nights. I'd personally rather work days and play at night, but I haven't had that luxury for the past week or so. Luckily, I think my schedule is going to be changed back to me working more mornings, which is easier for me because Mark and Roger sleep late and won't be waking up until I get home to take care of them. Or until I get home to "take care" (translation: jump on to him in bed and have a good ten minute makeout session so he gets his lazy ass out of bed) of Mark and Mark takes care of Roger. It's a transitive thing.

I feel like August has come so quickly. I mean, April will have been dead two months soon. It's so hard. So much has happened here in just two short months. I just wish everything could go back to normal. Normal meaning Roger isn't scaring Mark and I by convulsing from drug withdrawals. April would be alive and happy and thus, Roger would be happy. Mark and I would be having more sex. Mark and Roger wouldn't feel like they had to be together to feel the void in their lives.

I really do think that's what it is. And it's odd for me to actually acknowledge that I've figured it out. Mark and Roger are both singular entities who are so afraid of being alone, yet they try to isolate themselves from other people and cause their loneliness. Yeah, I know I sound like I'm full of shit, I mean, what could I possibly know about people? But I took a psychology class in high school and my parents said they would've paid for college, had I gone for psychology as I once intended, so I have a vague knowledge on how to understand people. I learned in that class that I want attention from people because I feel lonely unless all eyes are on me. I can acknowledge that and I came to terms with it back in high school. Mark and Roger are not coming to terms with the fact that they need each other much more than they pretend to. Roger is stubborn and probably won't ever admit to it. Mark is more likely to, but he won't. Mark can be too numb of a person to really understand himself, let alone the people around him. That's why Mark has the camera. Mark's camera enables him to numb himself from what's really going on.

That's why I couldn't have been a psychiatrist. Psychiatry is when you get paid to listen to people tell you why they are the way they are but they can't accept who they are anywhere except in that little office. That drives me crazy. People can admit who they really are to complete strangers but not to the people who it will matter most to. Psychiatryis robbery. Just taking people's money in exchange for letting them be honest with themselves.

I'm pretty sure Mark and Roger fell asleep in Roger's bed, so I think I'm gonna head out and pick up some groceries and maybe some more AZT for Roger. Last I checked the bottle on the counter, there were only a few pills left.

* * *

**Later…**

Okay. Possibly the weirdest thing ever just happened at work. But I'll fill you in on the rest of the day first.

Went to the grocery store and got some food for the loft. Had an AZT prescription filled under my name because I get minimal health benefits from work so the AZT is cheaper. Brought all of that home and found that the boys were still asleep in Roger's bed together. And _I'm_ the bisexual one. Anyways, left them a Post-It note telling them I was working three to nine and left for work.

Work was going fine, completely normal, nothing special, until around eight forty-five, just as I was starting to anticipate leaving. I come out of the kitchen and see our "host" (meaning he's dropped plates too many times to be a waiter so he seats people now) Joe putting a table setting down at the small table in the corner. Seated at the table is, and this is where my heart jumped into my throat, of ALL people to be at the Life, Joanne.

No. I'm being completely serious. Joanne, the incredibly attractive brown sugar really good job woman I had met in Central Park about a week ago was at my place of employment. And, as if fate didn't love me anymore, she was sitting in MY section. The only person sitting in my section.

After I sufficiently finished thanking whatever God there is, I sauntered over to the table. Joanne was studying the menu and shaking her head, looking quite displeased. I didn't really blame her. "Hi, welcome to the Life Café, my name is Maureen and I'll be your waitress for this evening." She looked up and stared, mouth slightly agape. "Could I start you off with a drink?"

"Mo…Maureen," Joanne managed to stutter out. "I am SO sorry I haven't called, I've been so busy, working on a big case…"

"Joanne! It's great to see you," I said, trying not to sound too upset that she hadn't called me and showing her that I was still interested. I had to do something drastic if I wanted this to progress at all, it didn't seem like Joanne was going to do anything more than she already had. "Listen, the food here is fine, but I get off my shift in," a glance at my watch told me it was eight fifty-two, "eight minutes. Would you be interested in going to get a bite to eat with me somewhere else?" I flashed her one of my charming smiles. I was going to give up completely if she said no.

Luckily, I didn't have to give up. Joanne got a water and we left at the end of my shift, heading down the street to a small Starbucks. I'm usually not one for supporting a yuppie coffee company like that, but I was with Joanne and not about to complain. We had coffee (cocoa for me, I'm not much of a coffee drinker, especially at nine at night) and chatted about life, my job at the Life, and Joanne's job at the law firm and were generally having a really nice time before Joanne looked down at that really nice silver plated watch she has and exclaimed, "Ten minutes before midnight! Are you kidding me? I still have to go home and do some filing before I go to bed and I have an eight A.M. meeting tomorrow!"

_Shit_, I thought to myself. _Mark is probably wondering where the fuck I am. Or he's sleeping with Roger._ For once, the second one would be ideal. "I'm so sorry that I kept you this long, Joanne," I said sincerely. I felt bad she was going to be up late and had to get up early in the morning.

"No! It's not your fault, I should've kept track of time. Besides," she added, smiling, "I had a great time with you."

"As did I," I said.

"I think I need to do this more often," Joanne said, sighing. "You're a very interesting person, Maureen. You live a very carefree and spontaneous life. I sometimes wish I could do that."

_Carefree?_ I thought. _I work and take care of my boyfriend and his recovering junkie AIDS best friend and I live a carefree life?_ I brushed it off, not ready to lose her because I wanted to bitch. "Well I admire that you work so hard. And we definitely should do this again. You have my number and now you know where I work. You know where to find me."

I gave Joanne a friendly hug that lasted a little longer than friendly before we parted ways, her to the subway and me up the street a bit back to the loft. I tried to come in as quietly as I could, and shut the door behind me gently, leaning against it and breathing a sigh of relief. That is, until Mark turned the light on and revealed that he was sitting on the couch with his camera.

"Twelve-fifteen A.M., August 2nd, Maureen enters stage left from a job that ended a little more than three hours ago. Her devoted boyfriend wonders where she was. Will she answer?" Mark asks, before lowering the camera and staring at me.

I came over to him on the couch, put my face in the camera, and said, "No comment. It's more mysterious if I leave it up to you to decide." I kissed Mark on the forehead and turned to walk through the kitchen to our room and I heard the camera click off and Mark's steps behind me.

"Maureen," he said, firmly placing his hand on my shoulder. "Where the hell were you? I was worried sick."

"Jesus Mark, calm the fuck down," I said. "I ended up having to work a little later than anticipated." Thank goodness I'm a good liar.

"And you couldn't have called?" he asked. Shit.

"It was really busy." Not as good of a lie.

"Whatever." Mark said, looking unconvinced. "I think I'm gonna stay on the couch tonight."

"Do whatever you want," I said, coldly, before walking into our room, shutting the door, and throwing myself on the bed, crying.

I've never, in my life, hated myself for lying until I lied to Mark tonight.

I don't know what I'm doing anymore.


	10. Chapter 10

**August 6th**

I'm emotionally exhausted.

The problems I've been having with actually caring about Mark and getting all upset when I hurt him are draining me. I'm not usually known for crying that isn't on command or faked to get what I want, and lately I have been. I've been burying my face in my pillow and crying real, genuine feelings.

It makes me even more upset to know that I care.

So I decided to go back to working a lot more. As much as I was able to enjoy my free time, I now feel like Mark has me under his control. I hate it. But I know that whenever I leave the house and I'm not really at work that Mark is going to wonder what I'm doing. My work schedule is posted on our small, only occasionally working refrigerator in the loft, so he knows when work is an okay excuse for me to use. I was a little late one night; I got home about an hour after I was done, because I was covering for another waitress who left with a bad case of the stomach flu. I apologized to Mark for not calling and promised him that I was at work. He filmed the whole thing, then turned the camera off and went in to Roger's room.

He films me all the time now, when I'm home and he's talking to me. He won't say a word to me unless he's talking to me from behind the camera. Even on those rare nights that we share a bed (I can't even call it "sleeping together" anymore, we sleep on opposite sides of the bed…he sleeps closer to Roger now than me.), I'll wake up and kiss him and say, "Good morning," and he just rolls away from me, picks up the camera from its spot on the milk crate-nightstand next to him, turns it on, and then says good morning to me. "Eight thirty A.M.," he said to me this morning, "Maureen awakes from a seemingly peaceful slumber." He lowers the camera and looks into my eyes for a minute before bringing the camera back to its original spot, plastered on to his face like some unfortunate birthmark. "How was your night, Maureen? Any dreams you care to share or reflect on?"

"Fuck you," I said, pushing the camera away and rolling over.

"Ooh, we have a cranky one!" Mark retorted, sounding a bit too ecstatic that I was in a shitty mood. "Well why don't we go look behind door number two, shall we?" which is Mark speak for, "Why don't we shove the camera in Maureen's face one more time, see that she is sufficiently pissed off, smile triumphantly, then go and annoy Roger?"

I heard him enter the kitchen and put on water for tea, then enter Roger's room to annoy him, which wouldn't be pretty. I got out of bed, went into the kitchen, took the kettle off of the hot plate, and dumped the hot water out the window, leaving the empty kettle on the hot plate. He deserved it.

I worked all day. The only reason I'm home now is because my boss didn't think it was legal for anyone to work this much, even if they wanted to. He asked me if I wanted to talk; I declined. Usually talking, especially to men, ends up with me grabbing my clothes and running out of their apartments in horror the next morning. It's actually kind of a wonder I never ran from Mark.

I think it was the camera that kept me around. It was such a turn-on to have something that was constantly focused on me. Now there's nothing I want more than to throw the camera out the window and smile at the sound of the shattering metal hitting the pavement.

I'd be afraid, though. I crave his approval too much. Not to mention if I hit a homeless person, I'd be in deep shit.

I'm digressing.

So naturally, on top of all of the exhaustion I have from working and trying to please Mark, something that is proving completely impossible, I'm also growing more worried about Rog. He's progressed to eating something at least once a day, which has become a big deal here; an advancement from the fact that he was previously eating like, once every four days. The food in him doesn't seem to be doing much good, though. I can't really bear to look at him when I am home because he has the most sorrowful look in his eyes.

Sometimes, I wish Roger liked me enough and was in a state enough to remind Mark how lucky he is that I'm still here. I realize this when I peek in Roger's room and I look at him, sitting on his bed, letting tears cascade down his face while he stares at his two favorite things: his Fender and an old, faded picture of him and April. Roger doesn't know I watch him.

Lately, I've been crying just watching him. And I've had to fight the urge to go in and do whatever I could to take all of his pain away.

Death changes things. People don't realize how much it really changes you until you are directly affected by it. I never liked Roger because he was always an asshole not only to me, but also to April and Mark, two people that he supposedly genuinely cared about. But now, when I look at Roger…I can't help but feel like a bad person for ever hating him. It's so difficult for me to see him so unhappy. No one would ever believe that if I told them, but it's hard. He lost the love of his life and he can't have her back. And he has to live with the fact that she killed herself out of guilt for putting a death sentence on him.

Roger lost the love of his life. Maybe that's why I feel like I can sympathize. I seem to be losing mine.


End file.
